Day9

Ours was not a wintry weather
A rosebud wrapped in cold, white plague
Nor a walk on a frozen surface
A shiver under sheets of ice and sleet
No, it wasn’t a string of pretense
A game of bleak charade and deceit
We didn’t die in isolation either
Or froze in ennui and dismay

On a cold, white snow we were burning
On a cold, white snow we’re ablaze
Swathed in the warmth of the winter sun
It was a dance round a cold blazing flame
No, ours was not a wintry weather
It was a stride under cerulean skies
Amid the bleached trees and naked frames
Our fire glows, bluer than blue


Our Writing 201 has already come to an end. It was an immensely stimulating two weeks of excellently curated poetry workshop and it was such a pleasure meeting different people of brilliant minds. I’ll be definitely looking forward to our next course. Now, for a very late submission, here’s my take on our Day 9 task. 🙂

Prompt: Cold
Form: Concrete Poetry
Device: Anaphora

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